Macarena
by Ashlee Pond
Summary: "Sometimes Rory wondered if his brain was a proper, fully functioning one, or if there'd been some kind of mistake and something vital about how to interact with other people had somehow been left out." - Amy just wants to dance, but Rory is too embarrassed. Shameless, ridiculous, dancey-pants Ponds fluff.


**Macarena**

Amy Pond looked beautiful in the starlight, Rory Williams thought. She was walking beside him with her red hair falling out of the bun she'd so carefully twisted it into earlier in the night, errant curls framing her face and making her look even more like an uncontainable firecracker than ever. Her eyes were wide and so, so green, shining under the bright light of the street lamps as they passed.

"You looked like a fool tonight, you know," she teased, knocking her elbow into his.

He made an awkward sort of coughing noise in the back of his throat and spluttered, "I thought I wasn't too bad."

She laughed, throwing her head back and causing even more of her hair to come loose. "You were a bit ridiculous."

Rory was feeling embarrassed now, so he put his head down and watched his feet as they walked, slowly making their way across Leadworth back to Aunt Sharon's house from Mels' place. It was a nice night to walk home; not too cold, pretty temperate for Spring, really. And the stars were out. Amy was always happier on starry nights.

A punch to his arm made Rory look up, slightly startled.

"What was that for?"

"I was just joking," Amy said, rolling her eyes, "About the dancing."

He smiled at her pathetic attempt at an apology. "No, you weren't."

She grinned back. "No, I wasn't."

The next few minutes passed in a comfortable silence. They continued walking, mostly in a straight line, although she would occasionally veer to the side and knock into him, half-heartedly trying to push him over. He'd push her back, but only lightly, not enough to make her stumble.

And then somehow the game turned into a dance.

One moment Amy had both arms outstretched to shove him aside, and the next she was turning them over so her palms were facing up, crossing them over her chest, folding them behind her head, placing them onto her hips.

"Are you doing the Macarena?" Rory asked, laughing at the ridiculous hip thrust she directed at him.

"I'm being you," she said, throwing him a sideways glance as she continued on dancing. "This is what you were doing at the party tonight."

He stepped back as she jumped around, her long arms flailing in front of her. "How drunk are you?"

She gave an offended gasp, and broke her routine to slap him on the arm. "Not at all!"

He gave her a disbelieving look and said sarcastically, "_Sure _you're not just a bit tipsy?"

"I'm doing a pretty coordinated dance, yeah?" She shimmied her hips, as though that would help get her point across. "That proves I'm not drunk."

Amy started up dancing again, the tips of her fingers brushing his chest as she flung her arms out in front of her. Rory was laughing at her, uncontrollably, unrestrainedly laughing at her, but rather than embarrassing her his laughter just seemed to spur her on. When she got to the hip thrust she couldn't hold in her laughter anymore and doubled over, clutching her sides and shaking as she laughed just as hard as him.

"What were you saying about me being ridiculous?" He quipped once they'd finally calmed down enough to breathe.

"You're always ridiculous," she retorted, sticking her tongue out.

"Says you," he teased, poking her shoulder.

She went to swat his hand away, but, to the surprise of both of them, clasped it instead, weaving her fingers through his. Amy's skin was cold, her hand impossibly delicate clasped between his own. She was still smiling, but it was softer now.

"I definitely think we're both a bit ridiculous," she stated.

Rory found himself suddenly at a loss for words. As he searched desperately for the right thing to say, he heard his own voice replying, "But you especially, for claiming that you need to be coordinated to do the Macarena."

Sometimes Rory wondered if his brain was a proper, fully functioning one, or if there'd been some kind of mistake and something vital about how to interact with other people had somehow been left out.

Amy scoffed and dropped his hand, but her eyes were still shining and her lips were still spread into a smile as she challenged, "Well, go on then. If you think you're so good at it why don't you show me, Mr Dancey Pants."

"Mr Dancey Pants?" He raised an eyebrow at her. "No, no, I am not doing the Macarena in the middle of the street."

"Aw, come on," she begged, tugging on the sleeve of his jacket. "Live a little!"

"No," he shook his head firmly, trying to ignore the pleading look she was giving him. "No, definitely not."

She got a devilish glint in her eyes then, and started to dance again, this time with even more exaggerated movements, shaking her shoulders and her hips and singing out some mumbled nonsense words until she got to _HEY MACERNA,_ which she yelled at the top of her lungs so it echoed around the deserted street.

"If anyone sees you -" he began to reprimand her, but she silenced him with nothing more than a look.

He sighed heavily, waited for her to complete a cycle of the dance, and then joined in. They ended up going in opposite directions, but he could always see Amy moving out of the corner of his eye, and she kept on singing even through her laughter. Rory felt utterly ridiculous, but it was a good kind of ridiculous. He tilted his head back and watched the stars swirl above him as he jumped, listened to his laughter nearly drowning out her nonsensical song, and Rory Willams felt happy.

Eventually they jumped up and landed facing each other, with their arms overlapping. Amy stopped singing. For a moment, Rory stopped breathing. And then suddenly she was in his arms, pressed up against his chest and clasping her hands behind his neck as they kissed. Her lips were soft and she tasted like the punch from Mels' party, a sort of intoxicating tangy sweetness. He wrapped his arms around her waist and held her to him, memorising everything about this moment that made it so exactly, unbelievably perfect.

When they finally parted, Amy's cheeks were slightly flushed and she was watching him intently. Slowly, carefully, she unwound her arms from his shoulders and stepped back, licking her lips. Her hair had fallen out of its bun completely now, and was tumbling around her shoulders in soft curls.

"Wow," Rory breathed, staring at her as though there was nothing else in the world to see.

"Wow," she repeated.

"I'm never calling the Macarena ridiculous ever again."

Amy laughed at that, as though it was the funniest thing she'd ever heard. Her eyes crinkled and her shoulders shook and she grabbed for his hand as though it was the only thing keeping her upright. When she resumed walking, she didn't let go; but Rory was still too stunned to move.

"Come on, stupid," she said, tugging him forward violently. "You said you were going to walk me home, at least do your job."

He finally managed to get his limbs to cooperate, and fell into step beside her. Rory didn't know what to say, but she was smiling at him, that bright smile that she reserved only for when she was really, absolutely, happy, and so he thought maybe he didn't have to say anything. Maybe Amy already knew the feeling.

* * *

**a.n. **urgh I have so much homework and this has already been done a thousand times, I'm sure, but after the Series 7 premier the Ponds feels just wouldn't leave me alone. I don't know where the idea for the setting/circumstances came from, but I quite like it, to be honest. I hope you do too; please let me know in a review!


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